


Ganymede

by sleepyjean



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 17:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepyjean/pseuds/sleepyjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are not supposed to envy those who are stolen by the gods, but Grantaire cannot help himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ganymede

i.

it is your mother who tells you the story first

(and this is your favorite memory

was

before _he_ came.)

the warm summer breeze through your open window

sends ripples through your baby curls

and she gathers you up in a cloud of perfume

and begins.

_once upon a time there was a little prince-_

_just like you, mon cher_

and she kisses the top of your head

and you are delighted-

_and there was a god._

_and the god loved the prince so much_

_that he stole him away_

_to live with him forever in the sky_

and you look up at her with eyes like the moon and ask

_did he ever come back?_

she gathers you closer and whispers

_no_

_never_

_the god loved him too much to ever let him go._

and you're nearly asleep now

but just before you drift off

you hear your mother whisper into your hair

_his name_

_was Ganymede._

ii.

years later, you learn in school

about jupiter and its moons

locked into place

held inescapably in the sway of the god

who loved them so

and you think

_poor ganymede, poor ganymede_

_cold and alone_

_you can never come down from heaven, now-_

iii.

-and then you meet _him._

he is nineteen

and you feel like a child again,

consumed with the giddy rush at seeing

something totally new and wholly beautiful

and you are delighted.

he says

_my name is enjolras_

but you can hardly hear him

over the frantic drumming in your heart

calling a rush of blood to your head

like an army to battle

and you think it is fitting.

this boy holds much of mars in his eyes

his speech

the way he moves as he tells you

_i'm going to change the world_

and you want to worship the way his mouth forms the words.

 

iv.

he is wonderful

this golden boy

he stands above you, king of kings

and the scarlet words unfurl from his tongue

and drip down his chin

and he grins his bloody grin at you

_come on grantaire, join in my crusade_

and you are delighted-

the god speaks down to the little mortal

ambrosia would taste like ash next to his lips

you have never heard of such a wonderful thing as this

great parades should be held to commemorate it.

 

of course

even the most lavish festival must end

and you find yourself

in that same old corner

worn out by the alcohol and the promises

_the future begins with us_

and you want to believe so badly

because you know

that he would be delighted

but something inside of you shudders and stills

(icarus could never get these old wings to work)

and you stay grounded

and try to grin at the light that hurts to look at, now

and eventually he stops asking.

 

v.

you love to study the myths

and you trace the names in the old poems

the wine-dark words flowing heady down your throat

and one

makes you choke.

_poor ganymede, poor ganymede_

you whisper shamefully into your sheets

but no, this is not what you want to say

_ganymede, please ganymede_

(and no prayer was ever so desperate)

_tell me what you did_

_tell me how you caught the golden god_

_ensnared him in your easy smile_

_bewitched him with your moonlit eyes_

_held him inescapably in the sway_

_of the little prince who loved him so_

but troy fell a long time ago, and her princes with her

and zeus has already let you fall to earth.


End file.
